Retrograde Nation
by Saerzion
Summary: Awaking in his original human body, Charon finds himself in a time not his own, when the great metropolises still stand in a world of technological prosperity. As a mysterious force pushes and tests his mental limits, he partners with an eccentric, secretive man in their backwards traverse through this parallel reality to locate the Lone Wanderer and search for a way home.
1. Trenton, New Jersey, 2077

**\- I -**

 **Trenton, New Jersey, 2077**

Sharp pain ripped through his skull the instant he opened his eyes to the searing light. His ears echoed with the thrumming beat of his pulse as he sucked in a breath, filling his lungs with air too sterile, too clean. He squinted through the brightness and willed his vision to adjust even as the effort brought another wave of agony tearing across his cranium. Hot anger spread through him in response, and he brought up an arm to shield his face, refusing to succumb to something as trivial as a migraine.

A ghoul's resilience ran tougher than that.

He gritted his teeth and felt something fluttery brush his skin when he blinked against the back of his hand. Still disoriented and half-blind, he tested his limbs and then forced himself into a sitting position on the cushioned surface he'd been lying on. His muscles protested the movement, but he bore it and leaned forward to cover his face with his palms, waiting for the resulting dizziness to pass. But as he kneaded his fingertips into his temples, he realized something was off.

Smooth.

He froze, trying to make sense of the unexpected texture. Slowly, the ache subsided and his sight cleared. Tanned hands came into focus, callused and scarred, but skin completely intact. They hovered above muscular legs in similar condition, no sign of decay or exposed tissue anywhere. He blinked once, twice, several times as he flexed his fingers and rotated his knees, making sure the body parts in front of him were really under his control. The bed creaked under his shifting weight, soft royal blue sheets cool beneath his bare buttocks. His heart raced faster, and, bracing himself, he glanced up to survey his surroundings.

White ceramic walls reflected the glare of the ceiling sconces and enclosed him in a large, oddly decorated room. A glossy black table sat between two navy felt armchairs past the foot of the bed. Beyond that, a wooden vanity mirror took up half the left wall, and a matching wardrobe paralleled it from the right. Crystal vases of varying sizes stood in each corner and held wild arrangements of overflowing, unidentifiable foliage. He frowned in bemusement and zeroed in on the only door, which was located straight ahead of him at the far end of the room.

Shaking off the rest of his optical haziness, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and gripped the headboard for support as he rose. Sluggishly, he ventured across the white floor, the pattering sounds of his feet breaking the eerie silence. His breath hitched at the sensation of the cold tile against his soles, and he picked up his speed to head straight for the mirror. The sight that greeted him sent a chill running down his spine.

A face he hadn't seen in nearly a century stared back at him from the glass.

Restored bone structure and cartilage supported his chiseled facial planes and strong jaw. The aquiline nose he'd lost during the ghoulification process had returned to its proper place above a set of thin lips. He had forgotten that his eyes were green, but there they sat, deep set and wide with shock. Facial hair had returned in the form of stubble, heavy eyebrows, and eyelashes. A full, reddish brown mane covered his scalp, no longer receded or missing patches.

His gaze drifted down to his naked body and roved over the well-built physique and _all the skin_ that wholly covered him. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at his reflection, finding no trace of necrosis, no sign that he'd been a ghoul at all. His mind reeled with confusion and unease as he turned back around and braced himself on the vanity counter, needing a minute to let this impossible situation sink in.

"What the—" he started, and stopped when the voice that issued from his throat held a deep, steady resonance. The raspy quality had disappeared.

He dug his fingernails into the wood of the counter as he wracked his brain for his last memory, for any clue to the events that had led him here. All he remembered was traveling the Capital Wasteland, the sun on his face and his shotgun strapped to his back. Before that, he recalled blasting Ahzrukhal's head apart because…

Someone else had bought his contract. The skinny Vault girl with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes flooded his thoughts, and he pushed himself from the vanity as his conditioned loyalty prioritized his objectives for him. He needed to find her.

He staggered toward the wardrobe and threw open the doors in hopes of finding something to cover himself with. The single set of clothing—a white T-shirt, jeans, and a brown leather jacket—hanging inside aroused further misgivings when he realized they came in his exact size. Left with little choice, he dressed quickly and pulled on the socks and black boots sitting at the bottom. A glowing device above the hanging rod had caught his attention, but he finished tucking in his laces before reaching up and plucking it from the top shelf.

It looked like a more advanced version of the Pip-Boy his employer wore on her forearm. The physical material took on the appearance of a metal watch strap, but the entire holographic interface stretched out to a size bigger than his palm. He held the device in one hand and prodded the interface with a cautious finger, watching as a map displaying two blinking markers popped up. Street names and buildings scrolled across the translucent screen when he moved his finger over the blue hologram, feeling nothing even as the grid reacted to his touch. He returned it to the center and studied the markers, one labeled _User_ and the other labeled _Target_. A dotted line connected them, indicating the travel route.

Determining from the stationary one that he was _User_ , he tried wrapping the strap of the device around his wrist and scowled when it latched on and locked by itself.

 _Sketchy shit,_ he mused and pressed a few buttons until he found the one that dismissed the interface. _Whatever this target is, there had better be some answers waiting for me when I reach it._

Although he was aware that he may be playing right into the hands of the external forces at work here, he had to start somewhere if he wanted to find his employer.

The front door slid open for him as soon as he stepped up to it. Frown deepening, he walked out and found himself in a dim hallway that appeared to be a hotel corridor decorated with more strange fixtures and artwork. He chose to take a left and followed it down, noticing that his body moved easier, lighter, most likely from the absence of both his armor and rotting joints. Still, he felt restless and vulnerable without his shotgun; and he was someone who didn't _do_ vulnerability.

Voices drifted in from the distance, and his gait sped up as he hurried down the carpeted steps. He had been correct that this was some sort of hotel, but he wasn't prepared to take in the sights and sounds of the vast lobby that opened before him. Large cylinder floor lamps of various heights warded off the night that peeked in from the full scale windows. From the ceiling hung a quad of rotating digital chandeliers that cast the entire area in a soft blue luminescence. Asymmetrical white couches were scattered around the floor, each one paired with a glass table and a hovering column of moving images. And the people…

Save for the strange fashion choices, many families present seemed normal enough, if a bit too relaxed. Others stuck out with all the electronic gear attached to their ears, heads, arms, and other applicable body parts. Several people spoke into portable headsets as they pulled up and tabbed through the holographic interfaces of their own wrist gadgets. He shifted his gaze to a pair of young women climbing the steps toward him, the clear visors over their left eyes drawing his notice more than their skintight dresses did. They ignored his blatant staring, but he caught an excerpt of their conversation as they passed by.

"So when did you get your visor? I thought you already had the wireless control lens implanted in that eye."

"I did, and this thing doesn't have anything programmed into it, I'm just wearing it for show. Goes with my outfit, don't you think? I was going for the 'modern hipster' vibe."

He turned away and furrowed his brow, descending the staircase as apprehension crept into his stomach. Where the hell was he? No armor or weapons were in sight, everyone looked clean and well-groomed, and the whole place smelled like that one flower he'd sniffed a long time ago, except multiplied by a hundred. He trudged up to the check-in desk and towered over the busy female clerk, whose black hair had been pulled into a ponytail to accommodate the dual earpieces on either side of her head.

"Welcome to the Trenton Marriott," she recited, still focused on what appeared to be a paper-thin computer monitor next to her.

The greeting gave him pause.

"Trenton? As in Trenton, New Jersey?" he asked once he found his voice again. _The Eastern Commonwealth?_

"That's right, sir."

Couldn't be. He rotated toward the windows by the entrance, glimpsing lights and neon colors amidst the darkness outside. Above the doors scrolled a flashing marquee, displaying the words _Trenton Marriot Downtown_. A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Wrong. All of this was wrong.

The last time he'd seen this place, it had been a decrepit wasteland just like the rest of the country.

He whirled on the clerk, not bothering to reign in his anger. "The fuck is going on here?"

Her eyes snapped to him, irises glowing briefly from whatever hi-tech lenses she was wearing. "Excuse me?"

He closed his mouth and changed gears when he spotted the words on the screen behind her. "'Best hospitality of the twenty-first century'? What's the date?"

"Don't you have your Pip-Boy world calendar synced?" She gestured to the device on his wrist.

 _So this thing really is some kind of Pip-Boy variant._

"If I did, would I be asking you?" he demanded petulantly.

"October 23."

"What year?"

She glared at him. "Are you trying to be funny? 2077."

 _Shit…_

He backed away from the desk and swept an alarmed look around the lobby, but everyone else seemed to be at ease. Turning from the clerk's puzzled stare, he stumbled over his own feet to the entrance. From what he could see through the glass doors, pedestrians were walking idly by the hotel while sleek-bodied vehicles cruised through the streets. No air raid sirens rang outside, no signs or announcements advertised any nuclear shelters. His stomach clenched with trepidation.

 _The Great War… isn't happening?_

He exited the hotel and loitered on the sidewalk, gaping at the bustling Trenton nightlife. Holographic billboards towered over the tall buildings that surrounded him, adding to the neon city lights that made up the skyline. People decked out in more strange technology and accessories strolled past him, and he raked his fingers through his hair, beginning to question his own sanity.

A beeping noise from his Pip-Boy drew his attention. Growling under his breath, he opened the interface and browsed through to reach the local map. The _Target_ marker had relocated closer to his position, now only a dozen or so blocks away. He made up his mind and wasted no more time pursuing it. Keeping the map pulled up, he navigated along the indicated route, nearly getting hit by a number of vehicles every time he stepped onto the street. A minute of observation taught him the function of the tri-colored lights hovering over each intersection, and he took to following groups of people crossing the road as he progressed closer to the target.

The concrete and asphalt beneath his boots were consistently level; a stark difference from the cracked pavements and dusty ground of the Wasteland. He passed structures and architecture of remarkable shapes, more trees and grass than he'd ever seen in his life, and a river that reflected the shimmering radiance of the illuminated city. He surveyed everything around him as he ambled on, still in disbelief over the flourishing greenery and civilization. These buildings had been nothing more than rubble in his time—some not even having existed during the pre-war era—and this population was probably three times the number of the Trenton he hailed from.

Most citizens gawked at him as he marched by, more so, he suspected, from his intimidating stature than his clear lack of bodily electronics. He was accustomed to bystander scrutiny from spending his days as the daunting bouncer of The Ninth Circle, but now that he was out of his own skin—or back in it, rather—walking in the figurative spotlight raised his hackles. He kept his head down as best he could, avoiding eye contact in order to discourage inquiries, at least until he had a better grasp of this environment.

Music of various genres resonated from every block, none of which he recognized or found aurally pleasing. He checked his distance from the target every few meters, growing tenser as the gap between their map markers decreased. The target still hadn't moved, but he picked up his pace, impatient to learn what it was and whether it held any clue to what was happening.

His hand wandered on instinct to his empty back, wanting to grasp the missing shotgun that had saved his life more than once during forays into the unknown. He maintained his guard as he turned a corner and found himself gazing out at the view of the Lower Trenton Bridge. His chest constricted at the sight of the undamaged landmark, the city's full motto written across its metal rails in giant glowing letters.

 _Trenton Makes, the World Takes._

In his memories, only parts of the bridge had still been standing, and he'd always wondered what the remaining letters had been spelling out.

Another beep from the Pip-Boy cut through his thoughts. He glanced down at the map and determined fifty yards remained between him and the target. His eyes lifted to the east, searching through the darkness for anything that stuck out in the strange setting. This area was emptier and quieter, and the atmosphere prickled his skin as he strode forward, fully alert. His footsteps fell heavily over the wide street, in sync with the racing of his heart as he followed the rest of the route to the edge of a damp, musty alley.

The moment he spotted a slender figure crouched in front of some sort of malfunctioning robot, another body leaped down from atop one of the adjacent buildings. He started at the sudden action, his brain immediately registering danger as his vision locked onto the sharp, red-lit weapon fixed to a reinforced arm. His Pip-Boy beeped again, and he didn't need to check it to know that the figure on the ground was the target.

"Move!" he yelled.

Crimson and orange sparks accompanied the piercing sound of metal scraping pavement as the weapon missed its mark by mere inches. The target had rolled away with a millisecond to spare, revealing itself to be a blonde woman in dark attire. She slammed a latch shut on the rear side of the robot just as the hooded assailant jumped up, unscathed, from the impossible fall. The machine activated at once and fired in the target's defense, forcing the assailant to take cover behind several crates.

He, in turn, dove behind a set of computerized trash cans on his left in case the line of fire swerved his way. Peering around one, he saw a pistol appear in the same palm that retracted the glowing red blade. Stray rounds from the robot's guns ricocheted in all directions, far enough away that he could analyze the situation from his hiding place. The robot seemed like an evolved incarnation of a Mister Handy, with heavy firearms replacing its buzz saws and—

Apparent transformation capabilities. His eyes widened when it responded to the woman's programming and stopped firing to morph itself into a vehicle reminiscent of a pre-war motorcycle. She hopped on and threw some sort of translucent shield up that blocked the barrage of bullets behind her as she revved the engine and sped out of the alley toward the opposite street. He had no time to gape after her, for the other individual had already begun sprinting toward him.

He ducked down and scanned the pile of discarded objects next to him for something to wield. One broken, sharp-edged plank sufficed. Gripping it with both hands, he waited until the footsteps were almost upon him. Then, drawing on seasoned combative senses to estimate the force required, he hopped up and swung. The illuminated blade cut right through the plank, splitting it in half and nearly cleaving into his arms. He released the wooden remnants and snatched his limbs out of the path of the red arc, given no respite as the assailant changed trajectory and charged at him.

The pistol had disappeared, but going up against melee wasn't his strong suit. He dodged a series of bladed slashes aimed at his abdomen, barely able to counter even as adrenaline surged through his veins. His advantage lay in his restored vitality; muscles and bones in their prime lent him the speed and physical prowess to deflect his opponent's sloppier attacks. Unarmed as he was, he wasted no effort, making every one of his movements count. Soon, he grew familiar with the other's fighting style, memorizing the dominant hand, the angles of the strikes. He sought an opening every time he blocked, his chest heaving with exertion throughout the fast-paced fight.

The chance came when a clumsy jab missed his head, and he grabbed the outstretched arm, using the momentum to throw the assailant to the ground. A pained grunt sounded from beneath the hood, which he reached down to yank off while digging his knee into the wrist attached to the blade. Swinging his leg around the other's waist, he bore down his weight in a solid pin. The burning gray eyes of an angry young man glared up at him in the dimness.

"Damn it! Get the hell off! You're gonna crush my electric blade rig!"

"Shut up, smoothskin," he barked, the slur coming out from sheer habit. More than likely, no one here would understand it, and technically, it applied to him again.

But the other man had stopped struggling, furious expression melting to one of shock. "Smoothskin? So you're from the Wasteland, too?"

He froze, wariness shooting to max levels at the mention of his home.

"Hey, I'm Jalen. I've been stuck in this place for God knows how long, and you're only the second person I've seen from my time," the man told him, an odd note of relief entering his baritone voice. "You're a sight for sore eyes, I'll tell you that. Who are you?"

He deliberated with himself before answering, "Charon."

"Great to meet you. Now could you please stop straddling me? You're freaking heavy."

"Prove you won't be a threat," Charon growled, refusing to budge. "You just tried to stab me no less than twenty times."

"I thought you were her accomplice," Jalen groaned. "That woman who got away—"

"Why were you attacking her?"

A sigh of exasperation preceded the response. "Because she was my target."

"She was my target, too," Charon snapped, scowling. "I was going to ask her what the hell was going on here."

Jalen blinked at him. "You mean you're new? Oh man, no wonder you're foaming at the mouth. Seriously, let me up and I'll explain what I know. Here, take my pistol and rig if that'll ease your mind about me."

Charon hesitated as he stared at the weapons the other man nodded to. Jalen's evident sincerity could have been feigned, but even if he tried anything by this point, Charon knew he could take him on. Still cautious, he went for the weapons, watching for any signs of trickery. Jalen merely laid back and allowed him to remove the gun and the electric wrist contraption, which had retracted the red blade inside its metal sheath. Once Charon tossed both items aside and patted down the other man, he allowed him to stand.

Jalen smoothed back his slick brown hair and dusted himself off once he got to his feet. His black hooded jacket and jeans had survived their clash, but the front of his maroon button-up shirt had been ripped open, revealing a toned torso. He wiped the dirt off his boots and peered at Charon guardedly.

"You've gotta tell me, though. Do you remember how you got here?" he asked, producing a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

"No. Woke up earlier with no clue."

"Damn. I can't remember how I ended up here, either," Jalen said as he flicked open a lighter and brought it to the cigarette between his lips. "My memory between going about my business in the Wasteland and finding myself here is blank."

Charon still didn't trust him, but a glimpse at his Pip-Boy showed him that the target was on her speedy way to the other side of the city. "Did that woman do something to get flagged on this map?"

"Well, here's the thing. I'm not gonna pretend I understand it, but the way I've found in getting answers is to take out the targets labeled on these devices." Jalen pointed to Charon's Pip-Boy and his own on his left wrist. "After each target is dealt with, we get a sign or a hint at getting out. So far, it seems like there's a limit to the progression of these events. Once we reach it, we might have a shot at getting home."

"So you've been killing random people for a chance of _maybe_ getting back?"

"They're not as random as you'd think. This woman who's the current target, Mabel, she's a pastry chef-turned-felon on the run ever since her robot went AWOL and killed a bunch of her customers. I've been tracking her for two days," Jalen declared with a note of sourness. "But since you're here now, maybe we could team up."

Charon snorted in disdain. "I'm supposed to believe we were brought here to be crime-fighting vigilantes from the future?"

Jalen blew out a puff of smoke and glanced sideways at him. "Not from the future, no. This place, this world… it's unnatural. Nothing here is anything we understand. Society, physics, time, all of it here is off." His eyes flickered to the digital clock stationed above one of the streetlights. "When I woke up in this place, I was in San Diego, California. The year was 2153."

The news struck Charon with another wave of confusion. _2153?_

"Yeah, seventy-six years after today," Jalen verified, reading his face. "Time on a day-to-day basis flows normally, but when we take out a target, there's a time skip to the previous decade the following morning. We're given a new target and sent to a new location. I've been going backwards all over the country from the twenty-second century to now. And I've seen things that haven't even been invented yet this year."

A headache throbbed to life and spread across Charon's temples. "Wait… so— _what_?"

"Like I said, I don't understand it, either. But the one other guy I met from the Wasteland started from the 2200s, though I haven't seen him since he didn't want to stick together. Who knows, since I ran into you, maybe we'll find him again."

Charon swiped a palm across his forehead as he struggled to process the information. "I have my own agenda. I'm searching for my employer, who may or may not be here. Last I saw her, we were in the Wasteland."

Jalen stubbed out his cigarette and activated the interface of his Pip-Boy. "What's her name? This thing has a crazy worldwide database of people, and I might be able to locate her."

Charon faltered. "I… don't know."

The other man gave him a flat look. "Seriously?"

"She goes by '101.'"

"Uh, okay. That's cool and… weird. Yeah, no '101' listed here," Jalen remarked as he scrolled through the grid of his map. "Well, I'm not asking you to take anything I say at face value, but fact of the matter is, we'll get answers a lot faster if we work together."

Charon studied him, sensing no ill intentions, though it could all very well be an act. Still, Jalen's presence and experience may prove beneficial yet. "Fine. But first sign that you're leading me astray, you'd better watch your back."

"Fair enough. I mean, I got my ass handed to me by an unarmed juggernaut. Like I'd try anything on purpose. Here, can I see your Pip-Boy real quick?" Jalen walked up to stand next to him, vastly inferior in height. He reached for Charon's device and accessed one of the tabs, typing his name with the virtual keyboard and grinning when a third marker designating him popped up on the map. "Awesome. Now you'll be able to see my location in case we need to flank the target. Or in case I piss you off enough for you to want to hunt me down, at which point I'm going to sorely regret giving you the means to track me. But hey, I'm an optimist."

Charon's only opinion at that moment was that Jalen talked a lot. _This is going to be a tedious… and annoying partnership._

"You should brace yourself for all the weird shit you're going to see in this reality," Jalen quipped and tabbed out of the map. He pointed to two words at the top of the Pip-Boy interface that Charon hadn't noticed before. "You're now in Retrograde Nation."

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** I started writing this on my other account a few years ago, but decided to move it here to join my main _Fallout_ fic series. As for the plot, I'm fusing _Fallout's_ standard atompunk with post-cyberpunk (cyberprep?) and sending Charon on a wild goose chase after the Lone Wanderer. This is my take on how an individual navigates and fights through a clash of hypothetical realities. Thanks for checking it out. More to come soon!


	2. Trenton Makes, the World Takes

**\- II -**

 **Trenton Makes, the World Takes**

Charon's grip on the handle above the door tightened as soon as Jalen changed gears—grinding the clutch in the process—and sped the sports car down the freeway. His body slammed back against the leather seat at the rough acceleration, and he checked his seatbelt for the fifth time to confirm that it was fastened and secure. Vaguely, he wondered if he had walked into a trap after all, and the powers-that-be had fated him to die at the hands of the worst driver in the history of any reality.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Jalen whined when he glimpsed the other man's stone-like posture. "No need to clamp onto the 'oh shit' handle like that. In the 2100s, these things drive themselves. I'm still getting the hang of it."

Charon's only reply was an irate grunt. Although he wore a poker face like a champ, his stomach twisted at the very real likelihood that their precarious, high-speed weaving around the other vehicles would result in a fatal (and possibly deserved) collision. He'd never been inside a working automobile before this, and thanks to Jalen's horrendous demonstration, he had zero desire to ever enter one again. He'd sooner go through the ghoulification process all over again than subject himself to a repeat experience of this nightmare. The freeway lights roved over the crystal clear windows in quick succession, and Charon prepared himself for death with every vehicle they flew past in the surrounding lanes.

"Damn, you're scared shitless, aren't you?" Jalen dared to ask.

"No. Fear is something I don't _feel_ ," Charon rumbled, eyes still glued to the road. "This is just me hoping to survive long enough to step out of this car and vomit. Won't miss these things when I return to the Wasteland."

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but they're pretty necessary here, and they only get worse in quality with every previous decade."

"Oh, joy."

Jalen grinned at him. "Sarcastic type, huh? We're gonna get along great."

"Says you."

"All right, how about I take your mind off my driving? Wait, hang on." Jalen paused to veer a hard left, a maneuver that both spared them from crashing into a semi and had Charon gnashing his teeth together.

"I feel like nothing good can come out of answering that question."

An irritating peal of deep laughter emanated from the driver's seat. "Just humor me here. You mentioned looking for your employer. What do you do for a living?"

Charon's brows drew together as he drafted a way to describe his profession without actually disclosing it. "Bodyguard."

"Cool, no wonder you're a badass. What's your employer like? She pretty?"

"Nineteen-year-old girl from a Vault. That's all you need to know," Charon declared, the inflection of his voice sharpening.

"Okay, okay, I was just asking. Moving on. Your accent sounds like it blends in with everyone else's in this city," Jalen noted, slowing down to a more merciful speed. "You from this part of New Jersey? Our version of it, I mean?"

Charon lowered his gaze to the glowing display of the dashboard. "Yes."

"Really? From Trenton?"

"Great Lanta. Post-War Atlantic City."

Jalen scratched his head. "Where's that?"

Charon exhaled. "Seventy-four miles away."

"So you're from the New Jersey Wasteland. I'm guessing you know it pretty well."

"Like the back of my hand."

"Wow. Must be weird seeing it like this, huh? All these things that never existed," Jalen remarked as he belatedly remembered to turn on the headlights. "Hey, think we could head to Atlantic City and find the location of your house? See how different it is—"

"I don't live in Great Lanta anymore."

"Oh, gotcha. When was the last time you were there?"

"A hundred years ago," Charon replied shortly, hoping Jalen took the hint and ceased with the inquiries.

He didn't. Grin fading, Jalen peered at him from the corner of his eye. "That reminds me. Back there, outside the alley. You called me 'smoothskin.'" He eased up on the gas pedal even more as the atmosphere shifted, grew heavy, and descended over the interior of the car. "Are you really a ghoul?"

Charon kept his sight trained ahead. The mirror on the sun visor reflected his grim expression, reminding him of what had been lost and subsequently returned. But even though he walked in the skin of a human once again, this body no longer belonged to him in his time. He sought no comfort in this borrowed form, not foolish enough to allow the illusion to blind him. As much as he wished this was his to keep, the lessons of his past had taught him life knew no clemency. He reached up and flipped the visor closed, figuring the action was answer enough.

"Hey, I know how it is. I'm not a ghoul, but I can relate to what you must be feeling," Jalen told him, pulling up the dashboard settings to activate the radio. "This place tempts you, gives you something you otherwise can't have. I just wish I knew the reason behind it all."

"And what did this place give you?" Charon stopped and frowned at his own question, surprised he'd been interested enough to ask it.

Jalen spared him a brief, indecipherable look before facing back to the front. "Completion."

An ambiguous answer if Charon ever heard one. They rode in silence for a long while, both staring out the windshield as they retreated to their own thoughts. The pulsing tunes of an instrumental song filled the space, erratic in its rhythm, lilting in its composition. Charon watched the steady traffic as he contemplated Jalen's words. He concurred with the need to know their purpose here, but he still held reservations about the other man's role in all this. Their meeting seemed too convenient, too contrived, especially with Jalen's promise to further fill him in on the business of taking out the targets.

He scrutinized him now, noting Jalen's cool demeanor and fluent command of the surrounding tech. Granted, he'd been here much longer than Charon had, but whether he was friend or foe remained to be seen. In circumstances like this, the careless endowment of trust often proved disastrous.

"You seem laidback in spite of everything," Charon commented over the thrumming music.

Jalen chuckled. "Like I mentioned before, I've been at this for quite a while. Might as well keep calm and try to work through it. And hey, some of the sights aren't bad, either."

Charon released the handle to examine his palms in his lap. "What if there isn't a way out of this?"

"Well… we can't really afford to think like that, can we?"

 _True._

He accepted that for the time being as Jalen swerved across two lanes to reach an exit that looped down into eastern Trenton. This section of the city offered a quieter environment, a glaring contrast to the lively downtown area. They passed several neighborhoods as the dashboard map indicated their approaching destination, and Charon fixed his line of sight on the towering condominiums in the distance. _Belladonna's Place_ , the flashing sign read. The building reached at least fifty stories in height, its white exterior illuminated by the roving searchlights at its base. Decorative trees lined the road winding toward it, striking Charon again with the luxury of it all.

Jalen stopped at the closed gate and rolled down his window to swipe his Pip-Boy across a scanning contraption. It granted them access, and the sports car jolted through under Jalen's clumsy operation. Charon continued staring at the condominiums while they came to a crooked stop in a parking spot, and his brows knitted as he took in its extravagance.

"How have you been able to afford living here?" he demanded as Jalen switched off the ignition. "I woke up in a hotel room with nothing but this Pip-Boy and these clothes."

"Let's wait till we get up to my condo to talk about this. Anyone could be listening in," Jalen replied, leaning over to show him how to slide the door open. "But the first thing you need to know is that this society follows rules of civilization that our world hasn't bothered with since before the Great War."

That explained the clear absence of carried weapons. Charon stepped out of the car unsteadily, glad to be back on unmoving ground. He waited as Jalen grabbed some things from the trunk, his eyes lingering on the body of the vehicle. Aesthetically, the shape and shiny red paint made for an impressive sight, and under the right driving skills, it could possibly have been a marvel. As little as he knew about his employer, he remembered her knack for mechanical work, and he was certain she would have killed to switch places with him at this moment.

Jalen finished locking up the vehicle and cocked his head toward the building. Charon followed him across the parking lot, studying the bulky duffel bag in his hand. His caution kicked up into high gear as he anticipated his entry into the other man's territory. Any number of possibilities could occur, and he readied himself for the worst, willing to fight an ambush or surprise attack if need be.

Their boots thudded on shiny linoleum when they entered through the front doors. A sweet scent similar to the one in the lobby of the Marriott saturated the air, clinging to their clothing as they made their way to the glass elevators on the left. Only a few people passed them by, and Charon did a double take when he realized one individual with glossy gray skin and motorized joints was, in fact, some sort of android.

"Synthetic intelligence at its early stages," Jalen muttered to him as the elevator doors slid open. "Looks crude and inferior now, but in its prime in the 2130s, blows our version right out of the water."

Charon stared after it while joining Jalen in the elevator. He shook his head to himself, still not quite convinced any of this was real. However, he couldn't deny the startling sensation of the elevator as it shot upwards, leaving his stomach down below in the unexpected burst of speed. He clamped onto the metal rails and scowled over at Jalen, who was rifling through his pockets without much difficulty. The stop came as suddenly as the initial surge, and Charon's knees nearly buckled out from under him at the abrupt halt in motion.

Jalen led the way out of the elevator and down the corridor to the right. Charon adjusted his jacket and trailed after him, now more pissed off than wary. Digital wall sconces lit the black and white interior in hues of blue and green, interrupted by the occasional violet floor vase situated along the doors of the condos on either side. A fixed black carpet lined the floor down this hall, and Charon blinked when he saw how the dirt from his soles seemed to seep into the dark material.

They reached a door on the left side of the corridor, and Jalen waved the physical screen of his Pip-Boy over the access node. A soft chime rang out as the door slid open vertically, and the ceiling lights flickered on as he entered. Charon swept his gaze around before stepping inside, preparing to either defend himself or make a hasty escape.

"Sheesh, I can practically feel your tension knocking me on the back of the head. Relax," Jalen drawled as he strode through the living room and dropped his duffel bag next to the glass coffee table. Pinning Charon with a hard look, he added, "Even if you don't trust me, at least know I'm not stupid enough to take on someone like you."

Charon remained in the foyer regardless, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes wandered around the lavish space. "We're here. Start talking. How did you get the funds for all this?"

Jalen sighed and removed his jacket, the maroon shirt underneath still ripped at the front. "I racked up cash during my time here through methods I'm not exactly proud of—stealing, selling myself to wealthy people, what have you."

"You… sold yourself? As someone under a contract?" Charon inquired. Bound under one himself, he wondered how Jalen had been released long enough to pursue the targets.

"As a male escort," Jalen replied bluntly. "In the twenty-second century, after a lot of socioeconomic strife, the elite class and AIs dominate the country. I made a few friends up the social ladder starting out, and the arrangement just happened."

… _Oh._

"So yeah. If I had to do it over, I wouldn't go that route, but it did get me a lot of useful stuff. For instance, this blade rig," Jalen went on, sliding out the glowing red blade, "and partial cybernetic implants." He tore the rest of his shirt open and discarded it, turning to show Charon the synthetic black construction attached to his spine through the skin. "The cybernetics are how I jumped from the top of that building in the alley and landed without a scratch."

Charon hid a grimace at the large, spider-like structure digging into the other man's back. "That is… abnormal."

Jalen shrugged and headed into another room, emerging a few seconds later with a new shirt. "The catch is that they degrade to their previous versions with every time skip. When I got this blade, it was actually embedded inside a synthetic epidermal section of my arm, and I could draw it at will. The cybernetics were full implants, completely in sync with my central nervous system. Almost made me invincible. I used to have a cerebral chip that heightened my senses, sped up my cognitive ability, and gave me night vision, but this year, in 2077, it hasn't even been developed yet."

Charon took an involuntary step forward at this information, finding it difficult to wrap his head around the idea of such advanced tech. "You just subjected yourself to these enhancements?"

"Hey, if they helped me track down and take out the targets, I was willing to do anything."

"And how did you know what to do with each target?" Charon demanded. "My first instinct was to interrogate, not kill."

Jalen shot him a sharp glance as he bent down to unload the duffel bag. "That was my initial instinct, too, okay? I woke up in some fancy bed and breakfast in 2153 and thought I'd lost my mind. When I found my first target, I barely got one question out before he whipped out a plasma pistol and tried to sear my head off."

Charon watched as he produced what looked like parts of a metal exoskeleton from the bag.

"I'd stolen this thing before that encounter and wasn't any match for the target physically, but in my line of work back in the Wasteland, I learned to be fast on my feet," Jalen declared. "With this attached to my arms and legs, I managed to run in close enough to strike and fracture his skull." He tossed the pieces to Charon, who caught them in one smooth movement. "Turns out that's military grade battle dress gear, phased into the Army in 2050, so it hasn't disappeared yet."

The material was lighter than Charon had thought, and the parts, made to clamp over his forearms and calves, still seemed sturdy.

"You can have it. Not that you need it. This is why I said I'm not stupid enough to take you on," Jalen told him, gesturing to Charon's entire frame. "I have cybernetics in, but you still stomped me out there without the help of any kind of physical enhancement. If anything, you're the dangerous one, not me."

Some things, regardless of the setting, simply didn't change. Danger described Charon everywhere he went, no matter what he did. It had been drilled into his character from a young age, made to give him value to whoever held his contract. Coupled with competence and skill, it turned him into a prized asset at the cost of his freedom. Even so, he wore the label with indifference.

"What happened after you eliminated that first target?" he questioned, setting the gear aside. "You said that a hint to getting out of here is given after each target is dealt with. Where do these hints come from?"

Jalen took a seat in the plush vermillion sofa, brushing his fingers through his sleek brown hair. "Even if I told you, you probably wouldn't believe me. Not until you see for yourself."

Charon glowered at him. "Have you seen where we are? At this point, I would probably believe you if you told me humans were living in space." At Jalen's hesitant expression, he muttered, "…Really?"

"Plans for the construction of a space station over Earth will begin in 2148," the other man stated wearily. "But if you're gonna talk about belief, do you believe yet that I'm a victim in all this just like you are?"

A long silence followed. Charon pressed his lips together and peered somewhere at the other end of the vast area. He still stood at the edge of the room, struggling to take everything in while staying on high alert.

Jalen laughed at his stubborn wariness. "Okay, I can understand. I guess I'd be suspicious, too, but I'm offering to let you stay here while we track down Mabel." He rose and padded over to some sort of liquor tap near the bar area. "As for the hints themselves, I've figured out that it's almost like a chess game."

Charon listened with interest at that, declining the glass of scotch Jalen held out to him.

"It's a constant back and forth. Targets move, we move, and when we get them, we progress on the board," Jalen remarked, downing the scotch in one gulp.

"And how did you determine all this?"

Jalen opened his mouth to answer, but froze when his eyes locked onto something across the room. "Holy shit… speaking of where the hints come from…"

Charon followed his gaze to the glass balcony doors, meeting a sight that startled even him. On the dark balcony outside, an eerie figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight. Straight long hair fluttered along with the hem of a lengthy trench coat, and a gloved hand rose to press against the glass. The figure remained shrouded in black, but the face that leaned forward and came into view sent an uneasy feeling creeping through his abdomen. The eyes were hidden behind a glowing visor, and the lips were so red that he couldn't tell whether the color stemmed from lipstick or blood.

A sneer revealed ghostly white teeth, and in the blink of an eye, the figure vanished.

Jalen took a few steps toward the doors before faltering, a visible shiver crawling up his spine. "That's a first. She doesn't usually show up like this out of the blue. And she gets freaking creepier each time I see her."

Charon forced the anxiety from his psyche. "Who the hell was that?"

"The one who gives out the hints after each target."

He was about to request an elaboration, but the one he received only left him more bewildered.

"So, Charon, do you believe in the devil?" Jalen asked with apprehension, still facing the balcony. "Because in this reality, the devil toys with the pawns while wearing a scarlet smile."

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** With _Fallout 4_ on the horizon, I'll be tweaking a few details on Charon and Jalen's backstories. Although this is AU, those of you who have read my other work know how much I love linking canon elements in my fics. Next chapter coming soon!


	3. Recall, Revile, that Scarlet Smile

**\- III -**

 **Recall, Revile, that Scarlet Smile**

A plethora of new questions replaced the ones answered, but Charon held them back and merely observed. For two days, he examined, learned, analyzed. He studied his new partner, searched for any signs of foul play. Jalen still raised no red flags for his part, seeming sincere in his eagerness to work together and help Charon get his bearings in this strange reality called Retrograde Nation.

Still, Charon held onto his caution, trusting nothing until he saw proof of their progress toward the endgame, toward home. Jalen showed him how to navigate his Pip-Boy properly and explained the parallels and divergence between this world and theirs. The purpose was to enlighten Charon on the way things worked here, but the latter continued to push for the pursuit of the target, sparing little concern for anything other than moving forward.

He no longer harbored misgivings about hunting down Mabel after reading public reports on her crimes, although he did wonder how she'd eluded authorities with all the technology available to law enforcement. Jalen suggested that they take their time in picking up her trail, but Charon remained adamant. He'd set his goal from the start, and his focus had narrowed to chase it straight on. Take out the targets, find his employer, return to the Wasteland. Like a mantra.

His impatience and insistence eventually led them to their current predicament at the riverside across from the Lower Trenton Bridge. Dusk had given way to evening, and their quarry had once again slipped away in the dark. Clamping down on his frustration, he stood a few meters from where they'd parked and took the opportunity to familiarize himself with his new gear while Jalen scoured over the city map.

Charon tested his range of motion by swinging a few punches. He marveled at the supplemented force in his limbs and the new fluidity in his speed from the Army battle dress gear Jalen had given him. Officially called the T-30d power exoskeleton, it fit him well despite his height, and the adjustable components accommodated his long arms and legs under his clothing. The harsh edges digging into his skin served as the sole downside, and he considered this one instance where he'd rather take his ghoul form again, if only for the protective leathery epidermis.

"This thing can't possibly be made out of adamantium," he declared, throwing two consecutive jabs and a right hook. "My arms feel lighter with it on. And I know firsthand how heavy adamantium is."

Jalen looked up from his Pip-Boy screen. "Adamantium around here is created and used in its purest form, without all the extra minerals and alloys like we have in the Wasteland. But in exchange, it's not as durable. Your arms feel lighter and faster because of the nerve stimulators on the power-exo, though, not because of the metal quality."

Charon frowned as he rotated his shoulders, noting the smoothness of the movement. "I don't feel the motor system or hydraulics, either."

"They're there, just so advanced that they're practically undetectable. Hey, once you're finished karate-chopping the air, I could use some assistance from a New Jersey native over here."

Charon glanced over at the other man, who sat on the hood of the red sports car. The nearby streetlight provided an extra glow on the holographic map, which Jalen maximized to a large vertical screen hovering over his wrist. Charon strode over to him, testing the power-exo's reinforcing effects on his knees as he walked.

"Right, so the target _was_ here—"

"Doing what?" Charon interrupted as his eyes swept over the river colored black by night.

"Going for a leisurely stroll? Hell if I know. You sure she wasn't already on the move while we were driving over here?" Jalen inquired, leaning closer to the map to squint at her blinking indicator.

"Yes. I monitored her position the whole way. She must have heard your hazardous driving and hightailed it out of here before we even got a visual," Charon deadpanned.

"That hurts, man," Jalen remarked absently as he studied one section of the city. "All right, it looks like she's staying put here. Right by the Trenton Battle Monument. Question is, which of these roads should we take to get to her?"

Charon peered at the icon on the map, recognizing the geography of the area at once. "That surrounding intersection? It's known as Five Points. The vantage point where the monument now stands was what won the Battle of Trenton in 1776." He frowned at his ready mechanical recitation, taken aback by his own uncharacteristic verbosity.

"I appreciate the history lesson, but I don't see how that—"

"If the target is around the monument—the vantage point—she'll see us no matter which direction we come from," Charon told him. "She took the initiative, stationed herself where she has the advantage. She's not fleeing anymore. Now it's a fight she wants."

Jalen's eyebrows drew together as he propped his chin on his palm. "Yeah, and it'd be great if we can take her down tonight. But any suggestions for a plan of attack? Usually I'd just rush in and hope for the best, but now I have an extra ass to watch. Don't take that the wrong way," he added when Charon bristled. "I'm sure you're capable of snuffing out lives faster than I can blink, but we're a team. I look out for you, and you look out for me?"

Charon hadn't signed up for this sappy teamwork crap, but if it got the job done, he was onboard. "First thing: strengths and weaknesses. You're good with that blade, but your strikes get sloppy after your stamina runs dry. Which is too fast. I kill things best with a shotgun. Problem is, I don't have one on me right now," he said, sending the other man a meaningful look.

Jalen got the hint and sighed, tossing him the car keys. "Fine, take the 12-gauge in the trunk. I'm trusting you to not shoot me once you have it in your clutches, though."

 _Trust. How freely you give it,_ Charon thought as he made his way to the rear of the vehicle. _Lucky for you, I haven't found a reason to eliminate you. Yet._

He slid the electronic key over the scanner of the trunk and opened it to find the duffel bag full of weapons. Digging through, he produced the desired firearm, a futuristic variant of his combat shotgun. Sleek and shiny metal comprised the main body of the 12-gauge, and the onyx stock and trigger guard fit well in his hands. He pumped the fore-end once and checked the light-up bead, already comfortable with the shotgun's weight.

"But seriously. Is there another route we could take to sneak up on her? Maybe underground? Sewer system?" Jalen asked, zooming in on the map. "This is also the first time a target has had a fully functional killing machine on their side. I don't know how the cops haven't tracked down that robot already, but it was a bigger pain in the ass than I thought it would be."

Charon stuffed plenty of extra shells into his pocket and then slammed the trunk shut, holding the shotgun at rest against one shoulder as he approached. "No. Look where the nearest manhole is. She'd still see us climbing out." Coming to a stop on the other side of the map, he tried to recall his past travels in Trenton and whether anything about the monument stood out. He remembered very little outside his work, but a vague adolescent memory of one of his pre-contract conditioning trials flashed across his mind. "Does she know there are two of us?"

"Hmm, the targets don't usually have the same tracking system we do, so probably not."

"How well can you sneak?"

Jalen made a so-so gesture. "Well enough to keep myself alive this long. Why?"

Charon pointed to two roads intersecting from opposite sides. "Flanking maneuver. I'll charge her head-on from Pennington Avenue. You come up quietly from North Broad Street and strike from behind. Use the pedestal of the monument as cover if you have to."

"That's it? Any advice on timing, method, or a Plan B in case I screw up and the robot tries to barbeque me with its flamethrower?"

"Yes. Either get it right the first time or run like hell."

Jalen dragged a hand down his face. "Great, thanks a lot. But that's okay. I'll improvise if things go sideways."

Charon nodded and activated his Pip-Boy. "Radio frequency is open if you need to contact me. The only signal you need to watch for is my gunfire. Once I engage the target, take that as your cue to close in."

If anything, calling the shots on their tactics made him feel less apprehensive and more in control. It should have unsettled him how smoothly he transitioned to a leadership role, but this wasn't the Wasteland; his subservience training did not apply here.

He turned to leave and heard Jalen hop to his feet.

"Hey, wait. Where're you going?" Jalen demanded.

"We're splitting up for this. North Broad Street is the long way around, so get in the car and head there," Charon ordered, still marching away. "And park far, where she won't hear the telltale noises of your engine stalling and transmission going to shit."

"But I could drop you off on Pennington on the way over."

"If it's you offering a ride, I would much rather walk."

x-x-x-x-x

Charon slunk along the bushes of the roadside fence, the power-exo lending a predatory grace to his steps. The area surrounding the monument had too many lights for his liking, but civilians numbered few here at this time of night. He tensed at the noise of his leather jacket rubbing against the stock of the shotgun, and he reminded himself that stealth wasn't necessary for his current task. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and cooled the perspiration on his brow as he set his sights on the vast structure several meters ahead.

A solitary figure stood on full alert atop its base. The target had no weapons drawn, but her stiff posture told him she was on guard. Her robot patrolled the perimeter of the monument, hovering over the ground in silent vigil. Charon formulated a quick strategy as he brandished the shotgun. Once he opened fire, he anticipated the robot barreling over to attack him close range while the target hung back. This boded well for Jalen, but Charon needed to hold out long enough for the other man to make his move. That Mister Handy incarnation had already demonstrated its lethality, and he doubted the power-exo's capabilities extended as far as rendering him bulletproof. Or fireproof, for that matter.

On the other hand, these conditions gave him the chance to exercise his new speed. He welcomed the challenge.

"You in position?" he whispered into his Pip-Boy mic.

"Yeah. Whenever you're ready," Jalen's voice replied.

Assuming command of a tactical situation was something foreign to Charon, yet it came naturally as he relayed further instructions to standby and then cut the radio connection. For once, he answered to no one while going into an impending fight. It conflicted with the ingrained service and submission to his contract, spurning a slight sense of disassociation from who and what he was. But at the same time, he savored the unshackled feeling. His pulse picked up as he advanced, his boots falling soundlessly on this untrodden path. He tightened his grip on the shotgun and swore to himself he wouldn't squander this rare instance of governing his own person.

Now crouching past the fence, he zeroed in on the target, heeding the bulk of firearms at her hips beneath her coat. The robot drifted by as it completed another revolution around the monument, and Charon concentrated on the arm wielding the flamethrower. If he could disable that weapon, he would only have bullets to worry about. Granted, he'd be dodging at least four guns, but he'd take anything that raised his odds. He crept closer, using the shadows as his cloak. Streetlights lit the path straight to the target, and he paused behind the last concealing obstruction, a large granite sculpture.

Taking a few readying breaths, he set his finger against the trigger and peeked around his hiding place. The robot continued along its orbit, propulsion jets visible in the nearby lights. Charon's eyes locked on its arms, the distance between them short enough for his shotgun to disarm the flamethrower. Just a little closer… closer…

 _Now._

Charon leaped up and fired. The blast of a slug exploding on metal pierced through the air, followed by a clang as the flamethrower hit the ground several feet from its owner. He dove back behind the sculpture at once to avoid the rounds that immediately volleyed in his direction. The sound of accelerating propulsion jets accompanied the encroaching rate of fire, and he cracked his neck joints in preparation before jumping to his feet and surging to the side.

He caught sight of the robot coming at him from a few dozen feet away, but he sprinted right past it as the power-exo bestowed him with superhuman speed. His limbs felt weightless and full of energy, and his feet pounded across the ground as his arms carried the shotgun with little encumbrance. He grew bolder as the shattered physical limits empowered him, dashing back and forth in front of the monument while the rounds flew by without touching him once. The target yelled out several commands from behind him, but the synthetic foe, unable to keep up with his agility, hit only concrete and brick as he dodged each series of bullets.

Charon took refuge behind the central fountain when the target drew twin pistols and fired from his rear. Covered by the stone structure from one pair of firearms, he focused on the other pair approaching from his four o' clock. He aimed and shot at the robot, gritting his teeth when he realized its exterior armor held up better than its arms did against the shotgun shells. Six slugs later, the most damage it sustained were a few dents. Ducking down, Charon reloaded with swift hands and then pushed himself up to dart away again, taking a zigzagging pattern down the main path to kite the robot from the target.

While the power-exo enabled his body to move faster, he found it didn't boost his respiration system to keep up. Growing winded and dismayed, he slowed down and activated its shield mechanism, watching as a translucent field of visible white energy surrounded him in a faint glow. He didn't know the physics of it, but he was grateful for its function when a barrage of rounds bounced off his back. Sliding behind a statue to preserve the life of the shield, he listened to determine the status of the fight.

The oncoming noise of the robot's rapid fire told him it still saw him as its main problem, and the target's steady stream of shouted commands meant Jalen still hadn't struck. Charon's fingers tightened around the shotgun as he hastily drafted another strategy in case the other man had left him to die after all. If he ran fast enough, he could close in on the target and shoot her at the cost of his shields. That would leave the robot, but at that point, escape would be his only concern he could progress to the next time skip upon the target's death. If what Jalen had told him was true, that is.

Deciding he had no other options, Charon scrambled up and tore across the pavement toward Mabel. She had hopped down from her perch and instantly opened fire on him even as he barreled straight for her. Without breaking his speed, he lifted the shotgun and fired a series of shells that failed to penetrate an invisible force field in front of her. Cursing, he veered off to the right—only to run into the robot, which had intercepted his path. A split second of hesitation gave the enemy enough time to whack the shotgun from his hands with its malfunctioning arm.

Charon dropped and rolled to evade further assault. Before the robot could rotate, he reached up underneath it and seized one of its guns, twisting and prying it off amidst an array of sparks. He tossed the useless weapon away and saw the edges of his shield fizzling as the target continued to fire at him from the side. Another metal arm swung at him faster than he could react, delivering a blow to his temple and sending him toppling. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it on the ground as he tried to recover, his head pounding. The robot descended on him once he rose to his knees, and he shot out both hands to grip its remaining firearm and turn its barrel away from him.

The power-exo lent him enough additional strength to break the last weapon off the robot, but the constant damage to his shield was wearing it out. And just when he thought he had unarmed the hostile machine, it revealed a reserve appendage fixed with a standard Mister Handy buzz saw. Charon grunted as he caught its base with one hand, holding it back from his face as his free hand blocked the strikes from the other arms. He panted from the exertion, ruing how quickly things had fallen apart and gone downhill. If it were just him and the robot, he would have been more confident that he'd eventually win, but the target's ongoing assault left him uncertain.

Several beeps from his Pip-Boy alerted him to the low condition of his shield, and as soon as it finally succumbed to the damage and dissipated, he grabbed one of the robot's arms and yanked the entire thing down to use as cover. The buzz saw drove into the concrete, but he held on, hurrying to come up with his next move as the target advanced on him. At that moment, he noticed a peculiar switch on the metal body with the indiscreet label: "Safety Mode."

Right in the midst of combat, a wicked smirk spread over his face.

In a flash, he flipped the switch.

The buzz saw ceased and the robot stopped struggling at once. Charon warily released it, still using it to block the target's line of sight. For a few moments, it seemed to power down. But when a stray bullet struck its exterior, it surged back up and turned on its owner, the buzz saw roaring to life as it propelled itself toward her.

Charon witnessed the shock cross her features, and she ceased firing to throw one pistol to the ground. Reaching into her coat, she switched into a defensive stance as she produced a gadget reminiscent of a Taser. Charon staggered to his feet when she baited the robot into throwing a swing with its buzz saw. The Taser connected with its arm, sending jolts of electricity through its systems. The robot short-circuited and dropped to the ground, and he tensed when she aimed her pistol at him, her expression smug.

He would have sprinted away to at least give her a moving bulls-eye, but something above the base of the monument caught his attention.

A familiar illuminated red blade appeared in the darkness. In the next instant, the wielder leapt down in an identical striking technique to the one in the alley. Except this time, Jalen hit his mark.

The blade plunged in a downward angle through the target's torso, the sharp tip driving into her back and emerging from her solar plexus. She stiffened, mouth dropping open. The weapons fell from her hands as Jalen twisted the blade and pulled it out. She collapsed immediately, blood pooling out from the wounds.

Charon glowered at the other man, still catching his breath. "Took your sweet time."

Jalen had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that. I got held up when I caught someone breaking into the car. I didn't get a good look at him, but he ran off with some of our supplies and led me on a wild goose chase."

Charon's displeased scowl deepened. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Jalen had been stalling on purpose to save his own skin. "I'm not taking that excuse. When I ask if you're in position, and you give the affirmative, you'd better be ready to go."

"I know, and it's not gonna happen again."

"Good. Because if it does, we're done." Charon jerked his head toward the red blade that Jalen was wiping off with a handkerchief. "And what is with that showy leaping move you do when you attack? It throws off your precision and opens you up for an easy shot."

Jalen blinked, almost pouting. "But that's my signature move. I call it the Arc Strike. I'm kind of known for it back home. Jalen 'Arc Striker' Desoto."

For some reason, the nickname rang a distant bell, but Charon pushed it to the back of his mind. "Cut it out and use a stealthier approach from now on. Maybe then you won't have to hang back until the target stands still for you because they're shooting at me."

"What—you totally think I made up that thief story, don't you? Come on, give me a break. Check the backseat of the car if you don't believe me. We're missing a bunch of ammo and stuff."

Charon straightened and put the matter aside for the time being as he gazed at Mabel's corpse. "So the target is dead. What now?"

Jalen retracted the blade, his face growing solemn as he peered past him. "Now we watch the next hint. She's here."

Charon pivoted on his heel and spotted the spectral figure from Jalen's balcony a few nights ago. She stood several yards down the central pathway of the monument, hands in the pockets of her trench coat and the visor still obscuring her eyes. The same sense of unease seeped into Charon's gut at the devil woman's eerie, red smile. Then she pointed behind her.

His eyes widened when the environment down the road warped, distorted, and took on the form of a giant holographic interface. The night sky shifted and split to reveal a succession of moving images, stills of different futuristic locations, some of which he couldn't even begin to identify. They sped by too fast for him to analyze, but he thought he saw a picture of Capitol Hill in the last one. The stills dispersed and faded right as the ground quaked. He bent his knees to stay on balance, heart thundering as he snapped his head to Jalen, who kept his gaze forward even as he struggled to stay on his feet.

Casting his eyes back toward the woman's direction, Charon saw a projection of a grid appear and develop on the pavement. The lines of the spaces flew at him, but passed right through as it tilted and wove, bringing a flash of holographic bodies across his vision. And just as suddenly as it all happened, it stopped and disappeared, the woman vanishing along with it.

His legs straightened on the motionless ground, the silence heavy around them. Then, half a minute later, he whirled on Jalen.

"What the hell was that supposed to be? That made no sense," he growled.

"Well, I did say she toys with us," Jalen responded, taking out a cigarette from his pocket with unsteady fingers. "That first line of images—I'm pretty sure they show our progression through this place, with the last one being our final destination."

Charon contemplated the image of Capitol Hill. _So that would mean the last one is Washington, D.C._

"That holographic grid is most likely a representation of a chessboard showing us our move to the next space. The next time skip." Jalen blew out a billow of smoke and glanced down at the target's corpse. "We can just leave Mabel here. Since it's almost midnight, we'll be long gone by the time the authorities show up."

"Someone might have seen and felt all that," Charon declared, looking around.

Jalen shook his head. "People here, they don't witness the paradox that happens when the hints are given. That's why you don't hear any city-wide alarms."

Charon stared down the pathway. "That woman in the trench coat. She's the one who brought us here, isn't she?"

"I thought so, too, at first. Like this was a game she's playing. But I don't know. I don't have any memory of how I got here, but I just have a strong feeling she's not the one responsible."

Charon studied him, finding more and more questionable elements in the things Jalen spouted. But he kept quiet for the time being, needing more information about how everything worked before he split off to traverse on his own. "So what now?"

"When midnight strikes after a target dies, we're sent through the time skip." Jalen checked the clock on his Pip-Boy interface. "We have an hour and a half, so let's head back to the condo—though God knows where we'll end up next. I notice you don't sleep, but you might want to during the transition."

"Why?"

Jalen reached back and ran his fingers over the partial cybernetics on his back. "Well, you probably won't have too much trouble as long as you take off the exoskeleton. But when you have tech implants like I do, downgrading to their previous versions is painful as hell."

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** A lot more research went into this chapter than I had anticipated, primarily on the geography of Trenton and the components of a powered exoskeleton. The entire story is outlined, but each chapter requires some geographical study, so you'll have to bear with me through the sporadic updates.


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